


I am underprepared, (but I am willing)

by Squeaky



Series: The Soulmate Series (no one asked for) [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Humor, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Families of Choice, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, OTP: Till the End of the Line, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been in a funk ever since the bomb blast that took his arm in Afghanistan. His home is an uninspiring mess, he's directionless and barely able to hold things together. Even the constant love and support of his adopted siblings, Natasha and Clint, isn't quite enough to pull him through.But he knows that things will get better when he finally meets his soulmate and hears the words that have given him hope since he was eighteen. Until he finally does meet them in the most unexpected way, and everything just gets worse.But as Sam, Natasha's soulmate says, you can't fix Destiny. So Bucky's going to have to fix everything else...





	I am underprepared, (but I am willing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/gifts).



> This work was written as a birthday present for my fantastic, sweet, smart, funny, kind and amazing sister [ Taste_is_Sweet ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet). She asked for an angsty story about Bucky recovering from being the Winter Soldier and being saved by Captain America and a kitten. I wrote this instead, and then gave it to her a month late. She must love me a lot because she was still thrilled and she still beta'd it for me. She is totally the best. 
> 
> The title is lovingly borrowed from the incredibly romantic[ I Choose You](https://youtu.be/xjE5D9cHiOk) by Sara Bareilles. Best wedding song ever.
> 
> I also decided that, since I love writing soulmate fics, I'd make a series!
> 
> * * *

The noise was deafening.

James 'Bucky' Barnes growled and pulled his pillow over his head, pressing it tightly against his ear with his right arm. It only marginally managed to dull the loud music and laughter coming from one of the houses across the street. 

Granted, it was two o'clock in the afternoon and not two in the morning, and most people weren't trying to sleep right now, but Bucky never slept well anymore. He'd been hoping for an afternoon nap to help ease a little of his permanent exhaustion. But he'd never be able to sleep with it so loud and his pillow pressed against his head instead of under it.

Plus it meant that he was lying on his left side, and the stump of his left arm was still sore enough to make that uncomfortable. Dr. Banner had said that it would get better with time and rest. Bucky had nothing but time right now, but apparently rest wasn't in the cards. 

He groaned loudly and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was an uninspiring off-white colour, like the walls of his bedroom, and the hallway leading to the equally dull living room-kitchen combination. His couch was an ugly brown colour and his kitchen furniture was scratched and looked exactly like he'd bought them second-hand. Which he had. 

He had had plans of painting the walls, and sanding and re-painting his table and chairs, and maybe even buying a nice throw to brighten up the couch a little, but none of that had happened so far. Just like he hadn't really managed to weed the garden or mow the lawn. 

Everything was just so fucking hard with only one arm. 

_Including asking for help?_

Bucky scowled at the voice in his head, which sounded uncannily like his best friend Natasha. She'd been bugging him for weeks to go out and make friends with his neighbours; to get involved in the community; to actually start living out in the world. 

And Bucky meant to, he really did. But he hated the looks he got when people saw that he was a cripple. The pity and the sorrow. He hated the way people's eyes slid off of him, past his face and right to the missing part of him. Like he didn't know he was incomplete. Like he needed that reminder. 

The music was still blasting away, some happy, upbeat song about a woman telling a guy to 'shut up and dance,' because apparently it was their destiny.

Bucky grimaced. Fucking soulmarks. 

But even as he formed that derisive thought, he found himself rubbing the spot just to the right of his belly-button, where his words were. His impossible words that had kept him going throughout so many nights of agony and despair when he'd first found out that he'd lost his arm, but he was going to live, but Reilly hadn't made it. 

The guilt had been amazing, dragging him down to places so deep that for a while he'd been sure that he couldn't have made it out even if he'd wanted to. But through it all he'd had Natasha at his back, reminding him that squad wouldn't want this for him; both loving and bullying him like only a sister truly can. They might've not been related by blood, but she was his sister regardless. Their years together in the foster care system created a bond that life had cemented into something so strong that she could drag him back into the light when no one else could touch him.

He owed her almost everything. But there was a small part of his semi-recovery that he owed to the speaker of his soulmarks. That nameless person who'd marked him on his eighteenth birthday and whose words had been like a small light blinking at the end of a really, really long and fucking dark tunnel. 

Losing Reilly and his arm had been the worst kind of life-changing experience, and like a lot of life-changing experiences, Bucky found himself re-evaluating everything he'd ever known about himself. 

The first thing he'd realized was that he fucking hated being told what to do, so he'd taken his honourable discharge and his severance pay and left the military before the ink was dry on his resignation letter. 

The second thing he realized was that he suddenly had no fucking clue what to do with his life, which was awkward, because he was twenty-eight years old and he was missing an arm, and this wasn't the best time in life to try to figure out what he wanted to do when he grew up.

The third thing he realized was that calling himself bisexual was a big, fat, fucking lie. He was as gay as a goddam Christmas tree and saying he was bi was a way to pretend that he enjoyed having sex with women as much as men, which made being with the homophobes in the military marginally easier. He really liked women, and he knew he'd enjoyed sex with them, but it hadn't taken a lot of introspection for him to realize he was all about the D, and he'd be totally cool with never dating a woman again. 

This revelation was a huge relief. It felt like he'd shrugged off a weight and was finally walking through the world as the true version of himself. James Buchanan Barnes, ex-military sniper, sergeant and gay as fuck. 

There was only one problem with that however. Just one small fly in the ointment of his new-found actualized life. 

His soulmarks, with their most heteronormative of statements. _I'm pregnant._

Bucky sighed as he thought about it. When he still thought being with a woman was in the cards, he'd often fantasied about what kind of situation would result in his soulmate saying those words to him. Would they meet in the drugstore while she was buying baby supplies? Would she be standing, abandoned and alone at some gas station, rubbing her expanded belly with her hands as she explained her tears? 

The idea of raising someone else's kid never bothered Bucky too much. His own family hadn't wanted him, after all. Neither had Natasha's, or Clint's. But they'd done okay by their foster parents who'd treated them like their lack of blood connection didn't matter. Bucky knew he'd love that unknown child like he'd love one he'd help create. The idea of having a pre-made family like that was pretty awesome, actually. He'd been looking forward to it for a while. 

It was the mother he'd have a problem with. 

He was an out gay man whose soulmark obligated a woman saying it. 

And what kind of brutal twist of fate was that?

* * *

He couldn't take it anymore.

With an inarticulate growl Bucky hoisted himself out of bed and threw on a t-shirt. It was stained and had a rip on the front from when he and Clint had first moved the ugly couch into his living room, and he'd meant to repurpose it as a rag, but he hadn't. 

He pulled on his jeans with the bleach marks and the holes in the knees and slid his shoes into his ratty black converse. He shoved his hand through his hair, his fingers caught on the strands and he grimaced. He needed a comb and a shower and not really in that order, but he was just going to yell at his neighbours. How clean did he have to be? 

It took him a mere moment after opening his front door to confirm which house was the culprit. It was the pristine one almost directly across from Bucky's place. The one with the intricate stone-work and the neatly manicured lawn. The flowerbeds in the front were well cared for and looked like they had been transplanted directly out of 'Better Homes and Gardens.' Usually there wasn't a car visible in the driveway, but today the driveway was full to capacity and there were cars parked up and down the street from nearly end-to-end. The cute little mailbox had a collection of balloons attached to it, waving cheerily in purple and silver glory in the mild summer breeze.

It was a little intimidating, frankly. All that clean, well-cared for house with all those people in it. He glanced back at his house over his shoulder, frowning as he saw how overgrown his lawn was, how worn the paint on his porch. His house looked like the one that the kids were warned away from in the horror movies, while the one across the street looked like it belonged in an episode of 'lifestyles of the rich and famous.' 

Only rich and famous people didn't live in suburbs in New Jersey. Bucky squared his shoulders as he stalked across the street. It didn’t matter how great the place looked, or how many people might be inside. He was going to get them to turn down their fucking music so he could take a goddamn nap. 

He knocked on the door, then banged with the flat of his hand when he realized the noise inside would probably drown out his knocking. 

No one answered. 

"Hey!" Bucky's palm was getting sore from banging on the door. "Hey!" he shouted again. "Turn your goddamn—"

The door flew open and Bucky just managed not to smack his hand into the chest of the guy who'd opened the door. 

The tall, blond, buff, hot as _hell_ guy who was now grinning at him widely, like they were long-lost friends. 

Bucky blinked and lowered his hand. He was tall, just shy of six-foot-one, but this dude had at least two inches on him. His face was lightly flushed and his eyes were soft, and if Bucky were a betting man he'd be sure that the beer in the guy's huge mitt wasn't the first he'd had that day. 

Not that being a little drunk affected his attractiveness. He was built like a Dorito had sex with a coke machine and made really, really attractive babies, and wow Bucky had been single way too long if those were the kind of descriptions his sad brain was coming up with. 

"Hello," someone said in a proper English accent, and Bucky tore his eyes away from the blond Dorito to focus on an equally attractive woman also standing in the doorway. She had dark, wavy hair and large brown eyes that flashed with intelligence. Her figure was curvy in all the ways that straight men usually liked and her whole vibe was like a nineteen-forties pin-up via British prep school. He saw her eyes quickly flash up and down as she looked at him. Impressively she barely glanced at the stump of his left arm before apparently coming to some conclusion. Her perfectly red mouth tilted up in a smile. "I'm sorry, did we wake you?" 

Bucky grimaced at her perception. "Not that I could sleep," he muttered. "Your party's pretty loud." 

Her beautiful eyes narrowed minutely. "It's afternoon. Are you a shift worker perhaps? Because otherwise our celebration—"

"I’m pregnant!" The guy shouted at Bucky in obvious and immense joy. 

The woman rolled her eyes. "No sweetie." She patted the man's shoulder. " _I'm_ the one who's pregnant. You just helped me get there." She smiled at Bucky as if she was sharing the joke. 

Bucky wasn't laughing. It felt like he'd just been slugged in the gut. Or more precisely in the section of his abdomen that had his soulmarks written on them. The exact words that the blond guy had just said. 

In front of his wife. His _pregnant_ wife. At the party where they were obviously celebrating her pregnancy with all their family and friends. 

He'd thought it would be bad if the Universe had given him a female soulmate. This was infinitely worse. 

The woman's smile had slowly faded at Bucky's look of horror. She frowned. "Are you quite all right?"

Bucky cleared his throat, realized that somehow his mouth was now dry like he'd licked a desert, and tried again. 

"Yeah," he said, careful to not look at the guy at all. "Yeah. Um." He swallowed again. "Congratulations. Sorry to bother you. Enjoy your party."

Then he fled all the way across the street and into his house and locked the door like his life really _was_ a horror movie and all the demons of hell were outside.

* * *

The first thing Bucky did after his heartrate got back under control was call Natasha. She answered on the second ring. "Help," he croaked. 

"Please tell me you're not on fire."

"I'm not on fire," Bucky responded dutifully. "But I need help." 

"I gathered that," she said drily. "So, what kind of help do you need? The shovels and tarp kind, or something else?"

"No, I—" Bucky paused. "Did you just offer to help me hide a _body?_

"Not if this line is taped," She said easily. 

He laughed, then promptly sobered. "I met him." 

He could practically hear her sitting up on the other end of the line. "Mr. I'm pregnant?"

"Yes." Bucky bit his lip. "It's not him though. It's his wife. She's pregnant." 

"Damn. I was hoping that he'd be trans or something," Natasha said.

"Trans?" Bucky gaped, suddenly realizing that there'd been a whole planet of possible soulmates he'd never considered in his cis-gender view of the world. He sighed as he remembered the truth. "No. I'm not that lucky." 

"Damn," she repeated. "How'd he react when he realized you were soulmates?"

"I didn't actually speak to him." 

"That…makes sense."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed immediately, relieved that Natasha understood. "I can't destroy their marriage. She's pregnant!"

"Of course you can't. You were never that kind of person," Natasha said. The _before,_ was left unspoken and Bucky grimaced. Natasha insisted he was still the same man he'd been before the army and the bomb, but he wasn’t so sure. He looked at the unpainted walls and under-furnished house; at the weeds that were tall enough to just peek over the sill where the front window overlooked the garden. He looked down at his ratty clothes, feeling his too-long hair swing against his face. _Before_ he would've taken pride in his appearance. _Before_ he would've made sure his house looked like it belonged in the neighbourhood. _Before_ he would've been the type of guy who might've made a hot, blond Dorito look twice. He grit his teeth.

Natasha was still speaking. "—stand why it would've been upsetting. But you don't really know the whole story. Maybe you should go talk with him? Things might be clearer once he's heard your words. Maybe you're even a triad."

"Gay." 

He could almost hear Natasha's eye roll. "Relationships don't always need to be sexual, James. Maybe you and his wife will develop a fabulous friendship." 

Bucky shrugged even though Natasha couldn't see it. The brunette had looked like someone he'd like to get to know—if he didn't hate people so bad right now. And if he wouldn’t be totally mortified for her to walk onto his lawn, let alone into his home. 

His home that she and his soulmate looked at _every day._ Probably wishing it would spontaneously burst into flames so that it'd stop bringing down their property value. It probably caused them a lot of stress. And she was pregnant. 

Pregnant with his soulmate's baby. 

A baby he apparently cared about because it was his soulmate's, even though his soulmate didn't know they were soulmates and probably never would. Because it would destroy their marriage and then their baby would grow up without both its parents and it would be all Bucky's fault. 

"I need to move."

"You'll need to mow the lawn." Natasha barely took a breath before she said it. God he loved her. 

"I know," Bucky sighed. "Can you come over? And bring Clint?" He winced. "And can you bring Sam?"

There was an audible pause. "You want me to bring _Sam?_ "

"And some paint," Bucky said. He hung up before he could change his mind.

* * *

Natasha, Clint and Sam arrived before the 'congratulations baby!' party had even begun to wind down.

"Your neighbours are loud," Sam said as he surveyed the street overflowing with cars and the happy people who were still making their way inside. 

"I'm aware." Bucky glared at him. Sam glared back. 

Natasha glared at both of them. "Boys." 

Clint bounded up to the porch, a can of paint hanging from each hand and two rollers tucked under one arm. His biceps were as impressive as ever. "I brought paint." 

Bucky pulled his glare away from Sam long enough to grin his thanks at Clint and pat him affectionately on the shoulder. Clint had joined Bucky and Natasha at their foster home about a year after he and Natasha had gotten there. He'd been a half-starved frightened kid who barely said 'boo' when he'd first arrived. Bucky and Natasha hadn't really known what to do with him, so they'd basically let him tag after them wherever they'd went but didn't really try to interact with him. Apparently that'd been the right thing to do, because within a month he'd started talking, and within three months his bright and happy personality had started to show through. He'd ended up feeling like their little brother, and they'd thought of him like that ever since. 

One of the best and worst days of Bucky's life was when Clint signed up for the army to be with him. Against Bucky's wishes, the Brass had granted Clint's request to be put on Bucky's squad because with Bucky's promotion to Sergeant, they ended up short one sniper and Clint was damn good at hitting small things from really far away. He'd managed to escape the bomb blast by a matter of inches, and even on his worst days, Bucky would never not be grateful that it'd been him that lost his arm instead of Clint.

Naturally, Clint didn’t see it that way, which was why he was currently in Bucky's house, trying to paint the walls all by himself. 

"Let me help," Bucky said as he grabbed the end of the tarp that Clint was trying to drape over the couch. Although really they should just leave it. Paint splatters couldn't really make it look worse. 

"I got it!" Clint said cheerfully, but he waited for Bucky to place his end properly with only one arm. 

"Let me and Clint paint," Sam said as he stepped back into the living room. His hands were on his hips and he was surveying the white walls like they were actually interesting. 

Sam was a counsellor at the V.A. in New York where he lived. He and Natasha had met in the hospital where Bucky had been sent to recover. Sam was there working with some other wounded Vets, and Natasha had been there sitting vigil for him. Apparently Sam had bought her coffee and sat with her while she waited. Apparently they'd said their words to each other, discovered they were soulmates and fallen in love. Sam had then convinced Natasha to move to New York to live with him. Sam was handsome and kind and good down to his bones. He was funny and smart and really decent and if Bucky had a choice he totally would've chosen someone like Sam to be her soulmate. 

But he hadn't had a choice. Not about his arm, or about them meeting in the hospital, or about her moving so far away that it took over an hour for them to get together. And then Clint had moved there too, and Bucky was stuck in New Jersey by himself. 

He kinda hated Sam for that. 

"I can paint," Bucky said. He immediately grabbed a roller and stuck it into the sunshine-yellow paint that Clint had poured into the paint tray. The colour was bright and happy and nothing that Bucky would've ever picked, but then again in his current mood he probably would've painted the walls black. Or grey like winter. 

_Or blue, like his eyes._

Bucky scowled against the unwelcome thought of his soulmate and slapped the roller against the wall. 

"Gentle!" Clint admonished. 

"You're putting it on too thick," Sam said. 

"Like your skull," Bucky said. 

Sam shot him a look. "Your attitude is getting real old." 

"Like your face," Bucky said.

Clint laughed. 

Sam shook his head. "Juvenile." 

"Like your—"

"The lawn guys are here." Natasha said as she came into the house. She was followed by a pair of teenagers. The girl had a heart-shaped face with long, wavy brown hair and big green eyes. The boy had the same green eyes and similar features, but his hair was an improbable shade of white, reminiscent of the walls. The colour didn’t suit him, either. 

"Lawn guys?" Bucky repeated.

"Yeah," Sam said. "There was way too much work for us to do. I saw the pictures." 

Natasha shrugged at Bucky's look. "I like selfies." 

The boy stepped forward. "You want us to plant a garden as well?" He had an accent that made him sound Russian. 

Bucky thought of his neighbour's house, with their well-manicured lawn and the beautiful flower beds. He thought of the money he'd received from the military after his honourable discharge, sitting in his bank account, doing nothing. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"

"A garden will make your house easier to sell," the girl said. She had the same accent as the boy. 

"I didn't tell her," Natasha said as Bucky looked at her again. 

"Of course you want to move," the girl said. "Your neighbours are very loud."

* * *

With Natasha, Clint and Sam's help the work went surprisingly fast. They'd finished painting the walls just as the first glimmer of sunset appeared over the horizon. 

They all trouped outside while the paint was drying, beers in hand. Natasha took a couple more to share with the kids who were still working diligently on his lawn. 

Bucky shot her a look. 

She rolled her eyes. "They're Sokovian. They've been drinking since they could walk." 

"I kind of agree with Bucky," Sam said. "Kids shouldn't have alcohol." 

Natasha blinked. "You agree with Bucky?"

"Not on purpose," Sam muttered. 

The fact that Sam was agreeing with him made Bucky immediately change his mind. The kids may not even have been close to twenty-one but he'd shared plenty of wobbly pops with Natasha when they'd both been underage and they'd turned out mostly okay. Sam could suck it.

Although he still couldn't help feel it was wrong to give alcohol to children. 

Then he realized he was thinking like a dad, which probably had something to do with the fact his soulmate was having a baby, and he grimaced. 

Let Nat give the kids a fucking case of beer if she liked. They'd been working hard. They all deserved a cold beverage. One beer wouldn't fry their teen-age brains. Probably.

The lawn was gorgeous, trimmed and lush and thick with gleaming green blades of grass. The girl (Wanda, Natasha supplied helpfully) moved her goggles to the top of her head and turned off the weed trimmer she'd been using to delicately shape the edges of the lawn. She pulled out her earplugs and grinned in excitement. "Beer!"

This caught the boy's attention. Pietro (thanks again, Nat) lowered his earmuffs. He had dirt smeared across one cheek and streaks of it in his hair. He took off his gardening gloves and accepted the offered beverage with thanks, drinking deeply. 

He'd built an amazing garden in such a short period of time. It was a riot of joyous, flowering colour that made the front of Bucky's house look rustic instead of frightening. 

"Those flowers look really fantastic!" Clint said to Pietro and gestured at the garden. 

Pietro stood, the bottle now hanging limply from his fingers. He and Wanda were both gaping at Clint. 

Pietro cleared his throat. "Please tell me you are younger than you look." 

Clint's eyes grew wide. "Holy shit." 

Bucky felt his jaw drop. He'd known about Clint's words since Clint had gotten them a day after his nineteenth birthday. They'd been in out in the sandbox in Afghanistan, just about to hunker down for the night when Clint had excitedly whispered the news to Bucky. Bucky'd been thrilled for his adopted little brother, but also sad that they'd been celebrating in that shit-hole without Natasha, and then terrified that he wouldn't be able to get Clint home safe to meet his soulmate. 

Eleven months later Bucky'd gotten his arm blown off. The bomb had missed Clint by inches, and while they were both waiting for Bucky to recover, Natasha had apparently told Clint that she couldn't deal if something bad happened to him as well. Clint had taken the hint and retired, which was the only bright spot in the whole fucking ordeal. Bucky had woken up in hospital missing one arm, but with both his adopted siblings safe and sound. It had made everything hurt just a little bit less. 

He'd honestly forgotten about Clint's words until that very second. Clint was only twenty-two, but his rough childhood, time in the harsh Afghani sun and apparently the trauma of nearly losing Bucky had aged him. He looked like an easy twenty-five and never got carded. He could see why Pietro might be nervous. 

Especially if Pietro was actually _younger_ than he looked, which would be really fucking young. Bucky walked two steps forward and yanked the beer out of Pietro's hand. 

Pietro didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring intently at Clint. 

"I'm twenty-two," Clint said finally. 

"Oh thank God," Pietro breathed. "I'm seventeen." 

Bucky went over to Wanda and took the beer out of her hand. She didn't even protest. 

"Let them have the beer," Natasha said, even though she wasn't drinking. "We're celebrating!" 

Clint and Pietro had their arms around each other and were both grinning like mad while Wanda was looking like she was ready to burst with joy. 

"He's my soulmate!" Clint said to Bucky and Natasha, like they somehow had missed the big important thing that had just occurred in front of them. 

"Is that what just happened?" Sam said. 

"That's just what happened." Natasha slid her arm through his and pulled him close, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Clint and Pietro were now sitting on the beautiful lawn, laughing and talking a mile a minute, their hands intertwined. 

It was all very couple-y and Bucky couldn't help but glance over towards his soulmate's house. 

The party was still raging across the road. Which was a weird thought considering they were all celebrating the future birth of a child. His soulmate's child. With his wife. 

Bucky sighed. He turned to the only other non-coupled person there. "Soulmates, huh?" he grinned and gestured towards Clint and Pietro and Sam and Natasha, who were all very involved with each other. 

"Oh I know," Wanda grinned back. "Vision and I were exactly the same way when we both met." 

"Great," Bucky muttered. He turned towards the party house, just in time to see the big, blond, Dorito-shaped coke machine come bounding across the road. 

"Hey!" the blond guy said as he came up the driveway. "I saw you guys out here. Did you want to come over for some drinks?" He paused to admire Wanda and Pietro's work. "Nice lawn!" 

Wanda turned to him with a warm smile. "You're from the house across the street. What's the party for?"

"I’m pregnant!" The man said, and then blushed. 

"You're pregnant?" Wanda laughed.

Natasha must have heard the exchange because she suddenly materialized by Bucky's side. 

"Congratulations," she said with a sly wink. 

"I’m not really," the guy's blush deepened. "It's actually—"

 _My wife's baby,_ sounded off in Bucky's brain. He realized there was no way he could deal with his soulmate saying it out loud. He turned and fled inside.

* * *

Sam found him in his living room ordering new furniture on-line. 

"What's going on, man?" Sam said.

"I’m ordering a new couch," Bucky said. 

"That's not what I meant." 

Bucky grimaced but didn't reply.

Sam moved closer and looked over his shoulder at the screen. "Get the green one." 

Bucky clicked on the blue with a pointed press of the mousepad. He could just about hear Sam making a face at him. Bucky ignored him and clicked on some images of arm chairs. 

"Get the blue ones," Sam said. 

Bucky looked at Sam side-eyed as he clicked on ones which had a subdued pattern in dark burgundy, blue and the same sunshine yellow as the walls. 

Sam burst out laughing. "You are such an asshole." 

"Takes one to know one."

Sam laughed again and shook his head. He moved to the front of the couch. Bucky stretched his legs out. Sam sat down on his feet. He weighed a ton. Bucky moved his feet. 

They sat together while Bucky racked up more money on his credit card and finally outfitted his house like he was a fucking adult. Sam would offer his opinion and Bucky would automatically choose the exact opposite. It was almost fun. 

He hoped that Sam would continue to ignore the Dorito-shaped elephant in the room. He knew it had been cowardly for him to run inside like he did, but he just couldn't deal with his happily-married soulmate. Or the fact that as soon as he said anything to him he'd destroy his soulmate's marriage. And the future of their unborn baby. And Bucky's self-respect. 

Of course his hope was short-lived. 

"His name's Steve," Sam said. 

"Who?"

Sam shot him a look. "The big blond hunk from across the street. Your soulmate. Natasha is still outside talking with him." 

Bucky glanced up to look out the window. Just as Sam said, Natasha and Wanda were still talking with Steve. They looked engaged and happy but every once in a while Steve would look up at Bucky's house, a small forehead crease marring his otherwise perfect features. 

Bucky looked back down at his computer. "He's not my soulmate." He ordered a coffee table in 'cinnamon.' Was that even a fucking colour?

"You told Natasha he was." 

Bucky sighed and sat back on the couch. "Yes. Technically he's my soulmate, but he actually can't be."

"Because of the pregnancy thing?"

"Yes." Bucky scowled at him. "Because of the pregnancy thing." 

Sam sat back too. "I get that." 

That was surprising. "You get that?"

"Yeah, I do," Sam said. "I didn't really want to meet my soulmate, ether." 

That made Bucky sit up. "You didn't want to meet _Natasha?_ "

"I didn't know it was going to be her." Sam made a face. "That's kind of the whole point of the first words thing, you know?"

It was Bucky's turn to make a face. "No kidding." Natasha had gotten her soulmarks just after Bucky had left for basic. She'd Skyped him as soon as possible to tell him about the simple _You look like you could use a coffee_ that was written in clean script on her right side. They'd celebrated together, even though there'd been almost a nine hour time difference. Natasha had been incredibly excited, and they'd enjoyed coming up with all sorts of reasons why she'd look like she needed a coffee. All of them good. 

But in the end she'd been offered coffee under the worst kind of circumstances. It was Sam who'd offered it to her while she was waiting for Bucky to come out of surgery. She hadn't told Bucky what she'd said in response until after he'd been released from hospital. He'd been angry that she'd kept it from him, hell he'd been angry at the _world_ and this was just another layer added to it. It'd taken weeks before he'd understood her reasons for not telling him. He'd eventually gotten the fact that she'd been trying to protect him through his thick skull and he'd been able to forgive her for it. 

But he'd never had this conversation with Sam. 

"I was angry, you know?" Sam said quietly. "When I got my marks and saw what they said?" He shook his head. "I couldn’t believe the Universe would do that. Have me meet my soulmate on the worst day of her life. Bust up her friend to do it." 

"She never told me what your words said," Bucky replied, equally as quietly. "Not until way after she'd met you." 

"Those words changed the whole direction of my life," Sam said. "I was going to go into business. Run my own Fortune 500 Company and be a billionaire. But her words changed everything for me. I became a psychologist just so I'd know what to say to her when we met. Help her with all that pain. I started working for the V.A. so that I might be able to help her brother and everything he was going through. Him and all the soldiers like him. My whole life changed because of those words." He smiled sadly.

"Yeah, kind of like the way my life changed," Bucky said bitterly. "Except not, because you _knew_ what was going to happen to me."

"But I didn't know it was _you,_ " Sam said. 

"But you knew it all the same." Bucky's voice got louder. "You _knew_ because the Universe told you but let me get blown up in a fucking war zone! You knew I was going to nearly die and I didn't know shit! You got Natasha and a whole fucking _life_ from those god-damned words, and what did I get? Nothing! Nothing but a shitty house in New _fucking_ Jersey, a gimp arm and the death of a guy who was counting on me to get him home!" Bucky was standing, chest heaving as he glared at Sam. 

Sam was staring at him. "No wonder you hate my guts." 

That caught Bucky up short. "I don’t hate your guts. Why would you think I hate your guts?"

Sam's startled expression changed to a sardonic one. "You want a list?"

"Okay," Bucky huffed. "Okay. I haven't gone out of my way to be buddy-buddy with you." 

"Try you barely tolerate me." 

"I tolerate you!"

"Barely," Sam repeated. He sighed. "Look, I get it. I've known about you losing your arm since I was eighteen years old, and you only found out that it was going to happen to you when shit was actually going down. There's no way that wouldn't feel totally unfair." 

"A heads-up would've been nice."

"Yeah." Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "You know that if I'd had any idea at all of who you were I would've told you." 

Bucky nodded, resigned. "Yeah, I know." 

"And the fact that I didn’t know you? That my soulmate's brother was going to be so badly hurt, and I couldn't do anything to protect either one of you?" He shook his head again. "It made me not want to find her at all." 

"You said that," Bucky said. "Because you were angry." 

"I wasn't just angry," Sam said. "I was scared. Scared because as soon as she said my words, she'd know the Universe had hurt her brother just to get us together. Like my happiness depended on his pain. I was sure she wouldn't want me once she knew that. Hell, I wasn't sure I even wanted to _be_ that guy, you know? Benefit from someone else's misery." 

Bucky smirked. "Sounds familiar." 

"I thought it might." 

Bucky sighed and flopped back down on the couch. "So what do I do?"

Sam shrugged. "It worked out for me and Natasha, maybe it will do the same for you?"

"I just…I don't want anyone to get hurt." 

"Neither did I. But as soon as those words appeared on my back there was nothing I could do to change it. Those words are part of our Destiny, whether we like it or not." 

"I still can't believe the Universe told you and not me." 

"What would you have done if you'd known?"

"Still gone," Bucky said with certainty. "I might've avoided that IED but I still would've been out there. With my men. I still would've gone." 

"And there you go," Sam said. "You put those words on me as soon as you made your choice to join the Army. Destiny set."

Bucky took in that thought for a moment. He had planned on joining the Army since he'd been old enough to know what it was. He'd wanted that kind of comradery and sense of belonging. He'd wanted to help and make a difference. Nothing would've changed his mind. Not even knowing he'd lose his arm. Destiny set indeed. He flicked Sam a glance. "Can I see them?"

Sam smiled. "Sure." He pulled up the back of his shirt. There, written in Natasha's unmistakable handwriting, were Sam's soulmarks. _My brother's in surgery right now to repair whatever's left of his arm after it got blown off in a war zone, and you think I could use a cup of coffee?_

Bucky smirked. "That's Natasha all over." 

"She's something pretty special, all right." Sam smiled at him. "And even though what you both went through was terrible, I can't ever be sorry that we're together." 

Bucky thought of Natasha, and how happy she'd been ever since she met Sam; how calm. Like a missing piece had slotted into place. "I can't be sorry about it, either." 

"I bet Steve will feel the same way." 

"I'm not sure his wife and future child will." 

Sam shrugged. "It's out of your hands, man. You can't be responsible for that." 

"Destiny, whether we like it or not," Bucky mumbled Sam's words. He looked at Sam through his lashes. "You really think I should?"

"Ain't up to me. But yeah." 

Bucky smiled. "Alright. Let's go find the Dorito." 

Sam laughed. "Dorito? That's what you call him? Damn, I hope that's not his soulmark!"

"As if I'd say that to his face," Bucky scoffed.

* * *

By the time Bucky went back outside Steve had returned to his house and the lawn-maintenance twins had gone home. Clint was still sitting on the lawn, looking besotted in the purple shadows of twilight. 

"I met my soulmate," he said to Bucky as soon as he saw him. His eyes were soft with wonder.

"He's jailbait," Bucky said. 

Natasha elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't ruin it for him." 

"I didn't chose his birthdate," Bucky protested. But he went over to Clint and pounded him on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you, kid." 

"I love him," Clint sighed. 

"That's great," Bucky said, meaning it. He looked towards Steve's house. 

"I think the party's dying down," Natasha said. It was true. There were far fewer cars parked along the driveway and along the street in front of their house and the music had changed from the thumping dance beat to something more soothing and jazzy. "Where's Sam?"

"Sam's inside choosing me bookcases," Bucky said. 

Natasha looked at him quizzically. "You're letting _Sam_ pick your furniture?"

Bucky shrugged. "We sorted some shit out. Besides, he's good at colour-matching. Did you know that cinnamon is a colour?"

"I dyed my hair that colour last year," Natasha said, and then; "I've wanted you and Sam to be friends for a really long time."

Guilt stabbed through him. He'd been so focused on how angry he was at Sam that he hadn't even considered how his attitude might've affected Natasha. He winced. "I'm sorry I've been an asshole to your soulmate."

"Not your finest moments, for sure," Natasha said. "But I get it." 

"But you didn't deserve it," Bucky said as he pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly with his right arm. "I'm sorry I've been such a dick," he murmured into her hair.

"It's okay," she said, hugging him equally as tightly. "At least this means you can be my best man instead of Clint." 

Bucky moved to look her in the eye. "You were going to make _Clint_ your best man?" 

She laughed. "He likes Sam, and he cleans up nice." 

"I like Sam!" Bucky protested. "I clean up nice!" 

"Clint can be my man of honour," she said. "He's going to get married before you, anyway." 

"His soulmate's not even legal!" 

"And yours doesn't even know you exist," Natasha retorted. 

"I’m going to fix that," Bucky said.

"Oh yeah?" Natasha raised one eyebrow. "When?"

"Right now," Bucky said. He turned and stalked towards Steve's house.

* * *

It wasn’t until after Bucky knocked on his neighbour's door that he realized he was still in the ratty clothes he'd been wearing since he'd first gone over, only now they had yellow paint splattered over them as well. "Fuck," he muttered and ran his hand through his hair. His fingers got tangled in a blob of dried paint. He was a total mess. There was no way he could meet his soulmate like this.

He turned to leave just as the door opened behind him. It was the beautiful brown-haired woman. Steve's wife.

"Can I help you?"

Bucky's mouth was just as dry as it was the first time they met. "Um." 

"You're our neighbour," she said with a confused smile. "The one who was having trouble sleeping. Are you still having difficulty? We've turned the music down." 

"No, no," Bucky said quickly. "No difficulty. I'm. Um." He ran his hand through his hair again, snagging on the paint. 

"Your lawn looks lovely," she said after a moment of really awkward silence. 

"I’m selling it," Bucky blurted.

"The lawn?"

"No, my house. I'm selling my house."

Her eyes grew round. "Whatever for?"

Bucky's mind blanked. He'd decided to sell the house and move just that afternoon after he'd met Steve and realized being his soulmate would destroy his marriage. But here he was, planning on saying Steve's soulmarks and destroying their marriage anyway. "You're having a baby," he said. And then his heart dropped as he realized exactly how that sounded. 

All the warmth that had been in her expression turned to stone. 

"No! Wait!" Bucky cried, "That's not what I meant!" But it was too late. The door was shut in his face.

* * *

"You are an idiot." Natasha said.

"I know," Bucky said glumly. He was sitting on his shitty couch that actually didn't look so bad up against the happy yellow walls. 

"No, seriously," Natasha said. "You're a real dummy." 

"I know!" Bucky said. He put his head in his hands. 

"You really told her you were moving because she was having a baby?" Clint said. "I thought you liked babies!" 

"I do!" Bucky said. "I love babies! I just…didn't say that." 

"I'm sure we can fix this." Sam put a comforting hand on Bucky's back. 

"She shut the door in his face," Natasha said. 

"Yeah," Clint agreed, "there's no coming back from that." 

"We can fix this!" Sam said insistently. "Steve and Bucky are soulmates, they're meant to be together." 

"His wife hates me now," Bucky said. 

"But we can fix this," Sam said a third time. "Come on guys, solutions here!" 

"When we were young and Bucky pissed off Natasha he would always let her beat him up," Clint said helpfully.

"She might like that," Bucky murmured, thinking of the anger on Steve's wife's face.

"No one's beating anybody up," Sam said. He turned to his soulmate. "Natasha?"

"Flowers?" she said. "Chocolate? I don't know how a guy should apologize to a woman. I just used to beat them up."

"I am so strangely turned on right now." Sam's gaze on Natasha was hot.

"Do you think flowers would work?" Bucky said desperately. "I could bring her flowers!" 

"I bet Pietro could do something amazing with flowers for her," Clint said. "I'm gonna text him." He pulled out his phone and turned away.

"Flowers might work," Natasha said thoughtfully. "But not if you go dressed like that." 

Sam eyed him critically. "Yeah. You look like someone dragged you through a bush backwards. You'll need to get cleaned up." 

"I can do that," Bucky said.

"And shave," Sam said.

"Okay," Bucky agreed. 

"And cut your hair," Natasha said. "You have paint in it." 

"Okay!' Bucky sighed. He pulled out his phone. "Anyone know of a good hairdresser around here?"

"Order us pizza while you're at it," Natasha said. "And I’m going to pull out the blow-up mattress for your guest bedroom. Clint can have the couch." 

Bucky blinked. "You're staying?" There was a small curl of joy in his chest at the thought.

"You called and said you needed help," Natasha said matter-of-factly. "Of course we're staying. We already brought our bags in from the car."

"Besides," Sam said. "You're going to meet your soulmate tomorrow. Wouldn't want to miss that." 

"Or she's going to beat you up and you'll need first aid," Natasha added. "Either way we should probably be here."

"Pietro's coming over tomorrow!" Clint exclaimed. 

Bucky turned to him. "Is he bringing flowers?"

"Shit," Clint said. "I forgot to ask."

* * *

The local walk-in hair salon gave surprisingly good haircuts. Bucky ended up getting a haircut that was completely reminiscent of his time in the military but far more fashionable. The hairdresser even managed to get all the yellow paint out, which was a plus. 

He shaved and changed into his best pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt. Natasha had taken one look at him and rolled her eyes. 

"You are not fixing anything dressed like that." 

"What's wrong with how I look?" Bucky looked down at himself. His shirt was a nice blue colour and wasn't stained and the jeans were clean, unripped and fit him well. He wished that the sleeve completely covered the stump of his left arm but the woman hadn't minded before so hopefully it wouldn't matter. And hey, maybe she'd see he was damaged and take pity on him. He could hope.

"Your clothing would make a construction worker cry," Natasha said and dragged him to the closest mall to buy him a new outfit. Sam and Clint stayed back, promising to get more painting done. They'd finished the main areas in record time and were now working on the bedrooms. Pietro and Wanda were coming by too. Their lawn maintenance business apparently also did exterior painting. Who knew? 

Natasha was a total tyrant, and by the time Bucky left the mall two-and-a-half hours later he had a brand-new wardrobe and three pairs of shoes that were completely useless for either marching in the desert or hard labour. He wasn't sure if it was refreshing or frightening. 

"Steve's not gonna care how I look," Bucky said as they loaded his pile of bags into the trunk of Natasha's black-and-red Dodge Charger. 

"He'll care." 

"He's my soulmate! He'll love me no matter what." 

"If his wife hates you, he'll care." Natasha slammed the trunk shut. 

"She's not gonna like me just because I dress better," Bucky said as he slid into the passenger seat. 

"No," Natasha agreed. She slammed the car into gear and roared out of the parking lot as if she were trying to lose a tail. "But she'll be more inclined to listen to your apology if she doesn’t immediately recognize that you're the asshole from across the street." 

"Point," Bucky said. "You know, since I met Steve, I've totally fixed up my place, cut my hair and bought a whole closet full of new clothes, and I've never even spoken to the guy." He bit his lip. "Do you think that's weird?"

"Soulmates are meant to change your life," Natasha said. "So, no." She glanced over at him as she drove. "But to me, it's not so much that you're changing, but remembering how to be the man you always were. It feels like your finally becoming yourself again."

Bucky stared out the window, contemplating Natasha's words. "I’m not sure I'm ready for this." 

"I'm not sure we're ever ready to meet our soulmates," Natasha said. "I know I wasn't ready to meet Sam." 

"But it must have been a relief after you met, right? I mean, he's perfect for you. Knowing he was the one must have made you happy?"

"Not at first," Natasha said. "You were badly hurt, and Clint was just wrecked. All I wanted to do was just be with the two of you until you were better. The idea of having to expend any energy at all on this guy just because the Universe wanted me to? Not great."

"But you were there for me," Bucky said. He remembered how she'd been there when he'd woken up after surgery; how she'd never left his side until the moment that he was actually able to mostly function on his own. How she'd reappeared the instant he'd told her he needed help. "You've always been there for me. You're my sister."

"And Sam's damn lucky he was smart enough to recognize how important you and Clint are to me, and that he stayed out of the way until I was ready to be with him." She reached over and took his hand and squeezed. "You're my brother. You've always been there for me, since we were little. Sam may be my soulmate, but you're my family." They sat together in companionable silence, hands clasped. 

"I've missed this," Bucky said finally. "I've missed you. You and Clint." 

"We've missed you, too," Natasha said. "Which is why we're moving back."

Bucky gaped at her. "What?" 

"I love being with Sam, and New York is totally cool. But you're not there, so…" she shrugged. 

"You're moving back? For me?" He felt his throat get tight. Damn seasonal allergies.

"Actually it's because New York's hella expensive and we want to buy a house. So, hello New Jersey," Natasha said. "Plus Stark's going to create a children's wing at his hospital here and he wants me to run their fundraising campaign." 

Bucky's jaw dropped. "Did you just tell me that Stark gave you a _promotion?_ "

Natasha grinned. "Maybe."

"Oh my God!" Bucky exclaimed, "That's fantastic!"

"Yeah," Natasha said. "The hours will be longer, but they'll be flexible, and there's more money too, which will make it easier for the baby." 

" _You're having a baby?_ " Bucky shrieked.

"Too bad you don't like babies," Natasha said.

* * *

They arrived back just after lunch. 

Clint was sitting on the lawn, a text-book on one thigh and Pietro's head pillowed on the other. Wanda was sitting on a brand-new Muskoka chair, listening to music. There was a tall, thin young man with purple hair dozing in the chair beside her. 

The chair and its partner chair were both bright red, which made a lovely counterpoint to the grey-blue colour the twins had painted the house. That, plus the cheery flowers in the garden made the house look like a beach-front cottage. It was completely unrecognizable from the disaster it'd been just yesterday morning. It looked like a home. 

"Hey," Clint whispered loudly. "Pietro and Wanda and their friend Vision have finished the first coat. You weren't here so Sam picked it. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Bucky said honestly. "The house looks fantastic." 

"I know, right?" Clint grinned at him. "How was your trip to the mall?" 

"I found out Natasha's pregnant!" 

"I know! We're going to be uncles!" Clint exclaimed. "Think they'll name the baby after me?"

"Only if it's a girl," Bucky said. 

Clint laughed. "We've got a lot of stuff to do before it arrives." 

"Yeah," Bucky sighed. He was really excited at the thought of Nat having a baby, and so happy for her and Sam. But the idea was also really overwhelming. She was two years younger than he was, but she'd already landed her dream job and her soulmate, and now she was going to be a mother. He didn't want to think about it. 

"Shopping went well," Bucky said, actively changing the subject. He hoisted the bags he was holding to show Clint. Natasha had given him the lion's share even though he only had one arm. She was both wonderful and horrible like that. "I think we might've even left some clothes in the store." 

Clint laughed but then his expression grew serious. "I'm really glad that you're taking care of yourself," he said. "After you lost your arm and got so depressed…I was really scared that you weren't coming back." 

"Hey, it's okay," Bucky said. He dropped the bags and sat down beside his brother, bumping their shoulders. "I would never leave you." 

"I know," Clint shrugged. "But there's leaving and _leaving,_ you know? And, well, you've been gone for a while." 

"I know," Bucky said. And he did know. Even though Natasha had pulled him out of the worst of his melancholy, forced him to go to counselling and made sure he was taking his meds, he'd still been disengaged from the world. Letting his life pass him by while he waited to want to start living. "And I'm sorry." 

"It's okay," Clint said. "You lost your arm." 

"But I didn't lose you," Bucky said. He reached over so he could grasp Clint's wrist with his right hand. "I didn't lose you, and I am so fucking grateful for that." 

"It should've been me," Clint said. "I was meant to be up with Reilly, but Grant hurt his ankle so I fell back—"

"No!" Bucky said it loud enough so that Pietro stirred. "No," he lowered his voice to not disturb the sleeping teenager. "You can _not_ feel guilty for not having been hit by that IED! The one thing, the _only_ good thing that came out of that whole fucking ordeal was knowing that you were alive and safe. The only thing!"

"But I joined the Army to protect you!" Clint said. "You'd spent your whole life protecting everyone! Me, Natasha, and then you joined the military to protect the whole country! And I knew that no one was going to protect you out there. I knew you'd be so busy saving everyone else that you'd forget yourself and you'd get hurt. And I was right! I went there to protect you and I failed. I failed!" 

Pietro blinked and sat up. "Clint?" he said groggily. "What is wrong? Are you crying?"

"No!" Clint shouted. He dropped his textbook and bolted into the house. 

Pietro looked at Bucky. "What has happened?"

"Damned if I know," Bucky muttered. He followed Clint inside.

* * *

When he got into the house, he found Clint in Natasha's arms, hugging her like his life depended on it. 

"What happened?" Sam asked coming out of Bucky's bedroom. He put down the brush he'd been using to paint the trim.

"I don't know," Bucky said honestly. "We were talking about my arm getting blown off and—" He gestured helplessly at Clint.

"Ah," Sam said unhelpfully. "It's about time." 

"About time?" Bucky repeated. "What?"

Clint let go of Natasha and turned to Bucky. He squared his shoulders like he'd done as a new recruit to Bucky's squad. His red-rimmed eyes were the only sign of his emotional distress. "I failed you," Clint said. "I was meant to be up front with Reilly, but because I fell back, you took my place, and therefore you were hit with the IED. It should've been me who got hurt. I failed you and I’m sorry." 

"What?" Natasha said. She looked between Sam and Bucky. "What is he talking about?"

"You didn't fail me," Bucky said. It was the same thing he'd said outside, but clearly Clint hadn't been listening. "You fell back because Grant needed help, and you were our medic. I took your place because that's what needed to happen. You did your job and I did mine and I got hurt and you didn't. End of story. You didn't fail me. I've never once thought that you had." 

"But I went out there to protect you," Clint said. "I wanted to keep you safe!"

"And you did!" Bucky said. "Every time you used your mad sniper skills to keep an eye on us. Every time you patched me up, or one of the other members of the squad. Every time you made sure we slept, or ate, or took the time to write letters home, you were protecting me." 

Clint was shaking his head even before Bucky had finished talking. "You lost your arm. You got hurt. I didn't—"

"Stop!" Natasha cut in. "Just stop! Clint you can't keep doing this to yourself. Bucky got hurt, but it wasn't your fault. It wasn't!"

"But it should've been me," Clint said. "That's why I specifically asked to join his squad. So it would be me instead of you. I wanted to protect you." 

Bucky went over to Clint and took his hand. "Clint, look at me." Dutifully Clint looked up. "Clint," Bucky repeated. "You and Natasha are the most important things in my life. You're my family. The only two people in the whole world who really give a damn about me. And if losing my left arm meant that you were safe? I'd do it again in a heartbeat." 

"It should've been me," Clint whispered. "I wanted it to be me." 

"No." Bucky shook his head. "Never you. If it'd been you who'd been injured—" Bucky had a sudden image of Clint lying on the ground in Afghanistan, howling in pain, his left arm gone and blood hemorrhaging into the sand. He found himself blinking back tears. "You think my reaction was bad after I lost my arm? You think I lost myself after I left my arm in the desert? How'd you think I would've been if my little brother, my _only_ brother, was the one who'd gotten blown to shit out there?"

"You would've been safe," Clint said. 

"I would've been fucked. I would've gone so far off the deep end that even Natasha wouldn't have been able to bring me back." He shook his head. "You may not get it, but I meant what I said. If you had been hurt, if you had _died_ out there. My little brother on my watch? I might've come back to the States, but I would've never come home."

"I just wanted to protect you," Clint said yet again.

"And you did," Bucky said. "You gave me a reason to keep going. You and Natasha were my reason. My only reason for making it back. You think you didn't keep me safe? You're the only thing that did."

Now Clint was blinking back tears. "Really?"

 _Thank God,_ Bucky thought, he was finally getting through to this knucklehead. "One-hundred percent." 

Clint threw his arms around Bucky and hugged him tight enough to hurt. Clint might've been shorter but he was hella strong. Bucky hugged him back with his one arm for all he was worth. 

"I think," Sam said slowly after a long while where Clint and Bucky just held each other and pretended they weren't crying, "that maybe you might like to talk to someone about what you're feeling? I know some pretty good counsellors out here. It might help." 

"Yeah, I think I'll do that," Clint said as he wiped his eyes. "It's hard feeling guilty, you know?"

"Yeah," Bucky chuckled. "We know." 

"Come on," Natasha put her arm around Clint's shoulders. "Why don't you go back outside and doze for a while. You can take a rest from your schoolwork and I’m sure Pietro would be happy to let you lie on him." 

"Okay," Clint sighed and let Natasha lead him out.

"That was horrible," Bucky said to Sam after Natasha and Clint had left. 

"That was important," Sam corrected. "Clint's been letting that build for a while." 

"I'm glad it's over. I hate the idea that Clint feels guilty for not being hurt." 

"People can think some really irrational things," Sam said. "But you handled that really well. You ever thought about being a counsellor?"

Bucky sighed. "I have no fucking clue what I want to do with my life." He looked out his front window over at the house across the street. There were no cars in the driveway, probably because it was Sunday and normal couples went out and bought groceries together, or things you'd need for a nursery. Because they had jobs to go to on Monday. Like normal people. Like Sam and Natasha, who were also going to have a baby. Like his soulmate.

"Shit," Bucky breathed. "I’m a fucking loser."

"Wait, what?"

"I'm unemployed," Bucky explained. "I've been out of the Army for over a year and I still don't have a real job." 

"Well, yeah. But you've spent a year recovering from a terrible injury. That's pretty much a full-time job on its own."

"I can't put that on a resumé! And what the hell am I meant to say when Steve asks me what I do for a living? I don't think 'professional recoverer' is a real job." Bucky used air quotes with his right hand. 

"I'm sure he'll understand—"

"Clint is almost through his paramedic certification!" Bucky shouted. "He's been out the same amount of time as me and he's already got his second career ready! Hell, he's taking summer school so he can graduate faster! And what have I done? Nothing!"

"You kind of had an arm blown off—"

"Not good enough, Sam. No soulmate in their right mind would want to leave their pregnant wife for an unemployed guy with no prospects." He thinned his lips. "I need to fix this." 

"I thought the apology to his wife was going to fix things?"

"No. I need to fix _this_ ," Bucky repeated. "I need to find a job."

* * *

It turned out that Sam and Natasha had taken time off after Bucky had called. 

"You didn't have to do that," Bucky said over breakfast. He'd gotten up early and gone to the grocery store so he could offer his family more than ketchup, celery, a block of cheese and beer for breakfast. Now they were eating some really good bagels with three kinds of cream cheese and pre-sliced fruit. He'd even bought coffee. 

"You called and said you needed help, and you asked me to bring _Sam_ " Natasha said. "I didn't think it was going to be a one-day thing." 

"But what about your work?"

"I'm in a delicate condition." Natasha grinned and patted her still-flat stomach. "Stark has no problem with me taking a few days off." 

"I can do my on-line course from anywhere," Clint said. He was holding a bagel in one hand and texting Pietro with the other, and yet he was still able to keep track of their conversation. Millennials. 

"What about you, Sam?" Bucky asked when it was obvious Sam was just going to keep eating his bagel without commenting. "Your work okay with you being in New Jersey?"

"I actually got laid off a month ago," Sam said.

Both Clint and Bucky's head shot up. "What?" Clint said at the same time that Bucky demanded: "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Sam turned to Clint. "It happened pretty soon after we got the new director in. She had a hate-on for me from the beginning. Felt I was focusing too much on counselling and not enough on paperwork." 

"Shit, that sucks," Clint said. 

Sam shrugged. "It's okay." He took Natasha's hand, looking into her eyes. "It was time to get out of New York anyway." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bucky repeated. He looked between Natasha and Sam.

"Because until two days ago we weren't exactly friends," Sam said. 

Natasha nodded at Sam's words. "It didn’t seem like something you'd want to know." 

Bucky put down his bagel. "Shit, guys. I'm sorry." He meant for more than Sam losing his job. He thought of Sam and Natasha's growing baby and felt his heart stutter. "Do you need to move in with me? Live here for a while? I was going to get a job anyway—" 

"I'll quit school and get a job," Clint chimed in. "We'll totally help take care of little baby Frances!" 

Natasha laughed. "No one needs to quit school. Sam's going to be okay. He's already got a lead on a position with Maria Stark Memorial here in New Jersey. They've already told him that they'll need him as soon as the children's ward is opened. It might be a couple of months, but we'll be fine." 

"But, uh," Sam cleared his throat. He was clearly nervous but he looked Bucky straight in the eye. "I hate to ask, but could we use your spare room for a while? Just until I'm employed again and the bank will give us a mortgage?" 

"Absolutely," Bucky said immediately. His face split into a grin. "I would actually love to have you both here." 

"Three of us," Natasha nudged Bucky's ankle with her foot. "Clint's been staying with us in New York. When we move he'll have to move too." 

"Yeah. That's fine. That's great, even. I'd love to have you guys here." Bucky couldn't stop smiling. 

"Thanks, man," Sam sighed in obvious relief, and Bucky felt a stab of guilt. Sam must have been sweating buckets about the idea of asking him for help, especially with how much of a dick he'd been. And even so, Sam had shown up on Saturday, ready to help a man whom he thought hated his guts. He'd talked Bucky through his pain about losing Reilly and his arm. He'd never even breathed a word about how anxious he must have been feeling, with having no job and a baby on the way. 

With sudden, total clarity, Bucky realized he actually respected the hell out of Sam. Sam was the type of guy he wanted to be. 

"I'm glad you're here," he said, holding Sam's gaze. 

Sam blinked. Then smiled in a comprehension. "Thanks," he said. "Me, too."

"I thought you were selling your house?" Clint asked. "Because of your soulmate's baby?"

"I got another baby on the way that's a bit more important," Bucky said to Natasha. He took her hand. 

"Not your baby," Sam said.

"Not important." Bucky grinned. He totally got why his soulmate had shouted 'I'm pregnant!' He kinda felt that way, too. 

Natasha smiled back at him. Then she frowned, looking at Clint.

"Baby Francis?" She said. "Like your middle name?"

"Well, yeah," Clint said as if it were obvious. "Clinton's a boy's name, and it's not like you can call her Bucky."

* * *

"I really appreciate your help with this," Bucky said to Natasha as he wiped his forehead with the hem of his t-shirt. 

She'd been in the kitchen all morning, working on his computer while he and Clint assembled and placed the new furniture. Sam had gone back to New York to arrange their impending move, and amazingly enough, Bucky found that he missed Natasha's soulmate even though he'd only been gone a day. 

He, of course, hadn't even attempted to go across the street to speak to Steve. He was still unemployed, and even though his house looked better, it was still painfully under-furnished. And there was also that little matter of insulting Steve's wife that he hadn't quite made up for yet. He winced internally. At least he wouldn't have to worry about destroying Steve's marriage and causing their baby to grow up in a broken home. At this rate the kid would be out of college before Bucky was actually in a position to say anything to Steve at all. His internal wince deepened. That was not a comforting thought. 

"I hope you mean your resumé and not the furniture." Natasha didn't even look up from the computer. "Because I'm not going to lift anything heavy." 

"It's a myth that pregnant women can't lift stuff," Bucky said. "Besides, you're barely three months in."

"I know," Natasha agreed, "but I’m going to milk this pregnancy for all it's worth. Also, your cover letter needed a lot of help. Brilliant has two Ls, FYI."

He frowned. "I didn't write a cover letter." 

"You did now. And you've also applied for seven jobs within a twenty mile radius of your location. You can thank me later." 

"Seven jobs?" He repeated. "Already?" He'd joined the military right out of high school and he'd never gotten more post-secondary education than what training to be a sergeant had provided. He'd been expecting to apply for a handful of entry level positions and unskilled labour. "What did I apply for?"

"Three positions as an administrative assistant, one nanny, one in a risk-management-slash-security company, one as a project manager for a construction company, and a barista." 

Bucky stared at her. "I'm missing an arm," he said slowly. "I can't type. I have no experience with kids, so I can't nanny. I've never worked construction or managed projects, so that's out, and I'd rather put a fork in my eye than serve coffee."

The computer made a musical 'ping' in the silence that had descended between them. 

"Well it's lucky that it's the risk-management job that just contacted you for an interview," Natasha said as she pulled up an email. "They've scheduled you for tomorrow at ten-thirty. I guess we need to get you a suit." 

"Risk-management?" Bucky said. "What the fuck is that?"

"How the hell should I know?" Natasha said. "Google it on the way to the mall." 

"Bring me back some bath bombs from Lush!" Clint called from the next room. "I'm going to be really sore after moving this couch." 

"Jesus," Bucky muttered. The shit he was doing for Steve. Who didn't even know he existed. 

Natasha jingled her keys by the doorway. "You coming?"

* * *

Bucky didn't know what he expected from the offices of the 'Strategic Security Review,' but he figured it wasn't that it'd be a series of rooms above a bakery. 

"Sorry about the mess," Daniel Sousa said as he directed Bucky through a maze of boxes. "We're still in the process of moving in." Daniel had wavy brown hair and kind brown eyes. He walked with a slight limp and that, plus the way his pant leg hung around his ankle, made Bucky realize that Daniel was missing his left leg. He felt immediate relief to realize that the SSR might hire disabled people, then he felt immediately bad for being happy that Daniel was missing his leg. 

"No problem," Bucky smiled, hoping it reached his eyes. He was feeling incredibly nervous and awkward in the new suit he was wearing. The suit was dark blue over a crisp white shirt with a dark red tie. Clint had skillfully pinned up the sleeve of the left arm so it fell in a clean line from his shoulder. Natasha said he looked handsome and very pulled together. He thought he looked like an airline pilot. 

It was also his first interview since he'd applied to restock shelves at Safeway as a kid. He grimaced. He had no fucking clue what he was doing. 

"So the set-up here's a little informal," Daniel continued as he led them down a hallway. "I'm the head of HR, as well as marketing and investigations. Jack's our corporate and personal security guy and, well, Peggy does everything else. And here's our interview room." He stopped in front of a door that looked like it should've led to a broom closet and opened it with a flourish. 

Sitting inside at a small table was a ruggedly handsome blond man with a snub nose and the woman from across the street. The pregnant one that he'd accidentally insulted. Steve's wife. 

Daniel apparently hadn't noticed the abrupt harshening of Peggy's features. "Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter, meet James Barnes." He indicated an empty chair across from the interviewers. "Please, sit." 

James sat and smiled at Jack and Peggy, reaching across to shake their hands. He felt like his lips were going to crack from the strain of making his smile seem warm instead of terrified. "Nice to meet you," he said. The three interviewers gave off a vibe like they were running a detective agency in the 1950s, vintage, smart and desperately cool. Bucky just stopped himself from self-consciously straightening his tie. 

Jack shook his hand with a strong grip; Peggy grasped his hand just long enough to bruise. Daniel had sat on Peggy's other side, and he just nodded and pulled out a sheet of papers. 

"So," he started with a warm smile. "Why don’t you tell us about yourself, James, and why you think you'd be a good fit for SSR?"

"Yes, please do, Mr. Barnes," Peggy said in her extremely clipped British tones. "Tell us why working with a pregnant woman and two men with children would be a particularly good fit." 

Jack glanced at Peggy. "I don't remember reviewing that question." 

"Because we didn’t," Daniel paged through his sheets. He looked at Peggy. "Did you want to start with the unscripted ones? Because I guess we could do that." 

"This is the only question I'm interested in," Peggy said. She hadn't stopped staring at Bucky.

"I do like children!" Bucky said desperately. At Peggy's flat look he continued. "I mean, yeah. That's not what it sounded like, for sure, but I didn't mean it like that." He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say. He owed it to Peggy after all. 

"Your husband's my soulmate," Bucky said. 

Peggy, Jack and Daniel all sat up at his words. 

"What?" Jack said. 

"Soulmate?" Peggy's eyes were wide. 

" _Husband?_ " Daniel screeched. "What the hell?"

Peggy put a quelling hand on Daniel's arm. "By husband, I assume you mean Steve?" 

"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "He said my words when I met him. Right before I found out that you were pregnant. I didn't say anything to him, so he wouldn't know we were soulmates. And then I decided to sell my house." 

Peggy's entire demeanor had softened. "I was wondering why the flurry of activity after it'd been left fallow for so long." Bucky winced at her words. He had been living there, even if his attempt at home maintenance had been minimal at best. 

"Wait. Let me get this straight," Jack leaned forward. "You find your soulmate, Steve, who's married to Peggy—" he glanced at Peggy when he said that for a second. "But then you find out that he's married, and decide _not_ to talk to him in order to save their marriage?"

Bucky nodded. "Yes." 

"And you also decided you'd move, just to avoid ever speaking to him." 

"Yes," Bucky said again. 

Jack leaned back with a low whistle. "I don't know if that's the nicest or stupidest thing I've ever heard." 

"Both," Peggy said decisively. "The nobility and futility of that gesture is as sad as it is appealing." 

"So I'm guessing you're pretty good at self-sacrifice," Daniel said before Bucky could respond to Peggy's words. "Staying away from Peggy's husband, Steve, like that." He looked like he was holding in a smirk. 

"I wouldn't describe it like that." Bucky ignored Daniel's expression.

"How would you describe it, then?" Peggy asked. 

"I like to do what's right," Bucky said. "Work towards the greater good. All that stuff." 

"Is that why you joined the Army?" 

Bucky looked at Jack to answer the question. "You could say that. I wanted to be part of something that was bigger than me, you know?"

"Your military record is certainly impressive." Peggy indicated the resumé in front of her. The one Natasha had crafted for him. "You made sergeant within six years of enlistment and were put in charge of a reconnaissance unit in Afghanistan. Tell us about that."

So Bucky did. He talked about himself and what he'd learned in the military, and after several questions in, he realized he was actually enjoying himself. Jack was smart, sardonic and cynical, Daniel was the dad of the group, kind and fiercely intelligent. But Peggy was the most impressive. She was a mixture of shrewd brilliance, deep caring, and thought-provoking commentary. She was also infinitely charming and funny as hell and Bucky knew with total certainty why Steve had married her. Hell, he would've married her himself if he wasn't gay and soulmates with her husband.

"I think that's it." Jack said after over an hour of an interview that had morphed from questions to conversation three-quarters in. He collected his notes together and straightened them on the table. "Daniel? Pegs? You want to ask our candidate anything else?"

"Nope, I'm good." Daniel smiled at Bucky. 

"I have a question," Peggy said. "James, you said that you were planning on moving. Here at SSR, we are sometimes required to be available to a client at a moment's notice, and therefore we'd prefer our employees to be less than half-an-hour away from the office. Do you have an idea of where you're moving to?"

Bucky's smile was wan. "I’ve actually decided not to move?"

"What about your noble self-sacrifice?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, aren't you worried you'll bump into Peggy's husband, Steve?" Daniel said. He was obviously trying not to laugh, which irked Bucky. Potentially ruining Peggy and her unborn child's life wasn’t really funny. 

"I don’t know. But my circumstances have changed. My sister and her partner will be moving in with me, and I need to stay put for them for now. If I do bump into Steve and say his words to him, we'll all have to deal with it when the time comes, I guess."

"Letting fate guide the way, huh?" Jack grinned. 

"A good friend of mine said that, once it's set in motion, you can't change Destiny, whether we like it or not," Bucky agreed, thinking of Sam and his words of wisdom. It felt good to think of him as a friend. 

"I like your commitment to your family," Peggy said. "And your desire to keep me safe, as well. Even though Steve is your soulmate." 

Bucky had planned on speaking to Steve before, because of what Sam had said, but he'd never wished Peggy harm. Maybe fate would make it work for all of them. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt." He said to Peggy, totally sincere.

"You're a good man, James," Peggy said softly. "Steve would be lucky to have you." 

Bucky blinked, stunned speechless by her simple words. Steve was her _husband._ She couldn’t possibly be that easy about losing him. 

"Well I'm satisfied with today's events,' Daniel said. He stood with more grace than a one-legged man should have and offered Bucky a strong handshake. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, James. I'm sure we'll be in touch." 

"Occasional evenings and weekends okay for you?" Jack asked as he rounded the end of the table. "And how do you feel about drinking during business hours?"

"Fine and…sure?" Bucky said. 

Jack clapped him on the back. "Good man." He went to the door. "Daniel, we need to look at paperwork. Maggie, can you please see James out?" And then Bucky and Peggy were alone.

"Was that a test?"

"No. Jack sometimes does drink during business hours," Peggy said. "He just wants to make sure he won't have to drink alone." 

Bucky laughed, but then stopped when he realized Peggy wasn't laughing with him. He cleared his throat, nervousness back in full force. Jack and Daniel had left him alone with Peggy for a reason. "Was there something else?"

"Firstly, let me assure you we will be offering you the position," Peggy said. "You have practical knowledge with enough intelligence to learn what you don't already know. You're brave, smart and confident enough to deal with Jack, which is no mean feat. You're exactly the type of individual we've been looking for."

"Thank you," Bucky stammered. He'd just been hoping to get through the interview intact. This was more than he'd ever dreamed. 

"Secondly," Peggy continued as if she didn't notice Bucky falling apart with shock and delight, "I think you should come to dinner tomorrow night. Come for six and dress well please. I'd rather not see your terrible excuse for a wardrobe again. We drink red, not white. I think you know where we live." 

"I was going to bring flowers," Bucky blurted. "To apologize." 

Peggy's red lips curved into a smile. "Don't let me stop you."

* * *

"She really invited you to their house for dinner," Sam said. 

"Yes." Bucky smoothed the front of his button-down shirt. He'd decided to wear white with tan pants, a brown belt and dressy blue sneakers with brown trim. Clint grabbed back his arm with a frown. 

"With her husband." 

"Apparently." 

"Threesome!" Clint cried gleefully from where he'd was expertly rolling up Bucky's right sleeve to just below his elbow. If Clint wasn't going to be such a great paramedic Bucky would totally hire him as a valet. 

"We're not going to have a threesome." Bucky scowled at him. 

"But you must admit it seems a little weird," Natasha said. She was holding a wine glass full of sparkling grape juice and making it look good. 

"Maybe she just wants to get it out of the way," Sam said. "After all you guys are soulmates. Your meeting is inevitable." 

"Or maybe she's planning on killing you and hiding your body," Clint said. He laughed. 

Bucky's scowl deepened. "I got the job offer this morning. I doubt she'd kill me that fast." 

"True that," Clint conceded. He moved Bucky's bangs to the side. "You're as good as you're going to get." 

"Plus we want you out of the house so Sam and I can Netflix and chill," Natasha said.

"You don't need me gone for that."

"It a euphemism for wild sex," Natasha clarified. 

Bucky looked at Sam. He shrugged.

"I'm going to Pietro's," Clint explained. "So I won't have to hear it." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You realize telling me all this is doing nothing to make me feel less nervous." 

"Don't be nervous," Natasha patted his shoulder. "You'll meet Steve and say his marks, and then you can have wild sex too." 

"He's still married!" 

"Threesome!" Clint said again.

* * *

A cute, perky redhead with a bright smile opened the door in response to Bucky's knock.

"Heya!" She said with a noticeable Queen's accent as she led him inside. "You must be James from next door. I love whatcha done with the place. Way less slasher movie and way more romantic comedy. You feel me?"

"Uh, yes. Thanks?" Bucky said. He was still holding the bouquet of flowers in his right hand, the bottle of wine tucked awkwardly under his arm. He'd bought red as Peggy had requested and then gotten a collection of red and pink Gerber daisies to match. She brought him into the main room, a large open space that housed both a living and a dining area. The table was set with formal dinner wear in cheerful colours. 

"Daisies!" Peggy exclaimed, taking the bouquet from under his arm and the bottle of wine in one easy movement. "My favourite. Let me go put these into water. Please, make yourself at home." 

"Come, sit," the redhead said. He followed her over to the living room and he sat in one of the large armchairs. It was in a deep blue colour that he instantly wished he'd bought for his house. Their coffee table was cinnamon. 

"So, my names Angela, but you can call me Angie," Angie said. 

"James," Bucky said. "But you can call me Bucky." 

"Bucky?" she wrinkled her nose. "That's a crazy nickname. Or did your parents not like you?"

"It's from my middle name, Buchanan. But now that I think about it, maybe my parents didn't like me if they gave me a middle name like that." Of course, that was before he went to foster care but Angie didn't need to know that.

Angie laughed, and then peppered him with more questions. It should have been invasive, but she was so utterly lacking in artifice that he found it charming instead. 

Peggy came to join them and sat beside Angie, close enough that their thighs were touching. She smiled at her. "I see you're making friends." 

"I've learned everything about him," Angie said proudly. "What do you wanna know?"

"Everything," Peggy said, and Bucky could hear her honesty. "But I hope the questions haven't been too overwhelming?"

"It's been great," Bucky said truthfully. "Angie's a doll."

"I'm very aware," Peggy said, and to Bucky's complete shock, she leaned over and kissed Angie. On the mouth, with heat. 

"Keep doing that and we'll have to send Bucky home," Angie turned to him. "Ever since Peggy's gotten pregnant she can't keep her hands offa me. It's like a dream come true." 

"Uh huh," Bucky said faintly. He wondered if it was the same for Natasha. He wondered who Angie actually was to Peggy. He wondered if Steve knew what was going on in his house when he wasn't there. He remembered Clint's gleeful 'threesome' and wondered if he was right. "Where's Steve?" he croaked. 

"He'll be along shortly," Peggy said. "Once he finishes his shift at the hospital."

"He's a nurse," Angie supplied. "He works emerg." She tilted her head. "He's your soulmate, right?"

"I think so," Bucky said. The shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by utter confusion. Peggy was smirking at him like they were sharing an inside joke, only he had no idea what it was. "The first time I met him, he said my words." 

"Oh wow!" Angie said delightedly. "I've been waiting for Steve to find his guy! What'd he say to you?"

"I'm pregnant," Bucky repeated obediently. 

Angie burst out laughing. "Aw that's cute. He's so excited about the baby." She put her hand on Peggy's knee. "So, Bucky, you like kids?"

"Yes," Bucky said emphatically, "I really do. My sister's pregnant right now." 

"Is she the one living with you?" Peggy asked. 

"Yes. Her and her partner. I'm really excited to be an uncle." He couldn't help smiling as he said it.

"Steve is, too," Angie said. "He's been talking about it non-stop since Peggy found out the IVF worked." 

Bucky furrowed his brow as pieces of Angie's conversation started to coalesce together in his mind. "Wait," he said to Peggy. "You got pregnant with IVF, and Steve's going to be the uncle?" 

"Yes, that's right," Peggy said. Her knowing smirk was still there. 

"She was so nice to get pregnant for us! I need to preserve my figure for my acting career. But I've always wanted to be a mom." Angie had Peggy's hand clasped in both of hers. Her wedding ring glinted gold in the soft light of the room. 

And suddenly everything clicked into place. "You and Angie are married." 

Peggy winked at him. "I knew you were the right man for the job at SSR." 

"Wait, Peggy didn't tell you we were married?" Angie said, confused. She turned to her wife. "Why didn't—"

The doorbell rang. 

"That should be Steve," Peggy said.

* * *

Seconds later Steve was in the living room in all his Dorito-shaped blond glory.

He was dressed in a light-blue button down and dark grey slacks. The former did amazing things for his blue eyes, the latter incredible things to his thighs. Thighs that Bucky would be happy to ride all night. 

He gave his head a small shake. He actually had to meet his soulmate first, and then hope that Steve would forgive him for all the weirdness of the last two times they'd met. He'd had a good reason for it, after all, even if the execution was terrible. 

It was these thoughts that were running around his head when Peggy brought Steve over to meet him. 

"You'll remember our neighbour, James." She still had that smirk going, only now Bucky knew it meant she knew something you didn't.

Steve lit up when he saw Bucky. "Oh hey!" Steve said, he stuck out his hand for him to shake and Bucky clasped it immediately. His grip was strong and solid. "Nice to see you again! We didn't get a chance to talk before—"

"I didn't want to ruin your marriage," Bucky burst out, then winced. Those were not the first words he'd been hoping for.

Steve was staring at him, blue eyes impossibly wide, and then he relaxed all at once. "Oh thank God," he breathed. "You had no idea the scenarios that've been running through my head since I got my marks."

"I'm sure I could," Bucky said. "You told me you were pregnant, after all." 

Steve looked confused. "I did?"

"At our party last weekend," Peggy clarified. "James has thought we were married ever since."

"He thought we were _married?_ "

"You did announce that I was pregnant while I was standing beside you, looking up at you with amusement and affection." 

"Kind of an easy mistake to make," Bucky mumbled. 

Steve turned to Bucky. "I'm not married," he said unnecessarily and with a small hint of desperation. "I've purposely avoided long-term relationships because of my marks." 

"Jeez, I’m sorry," Bucky said. "I didn't mean to do that to you." 

"I figured my soulmate would be worth the wait…besides, you've had _I'm pregnant_ on you for who knows how long."

"I really loved it, actually," Bucky said. "I've loved the idea that my soulmate was going to have a baby. It got me through some pretty rough moments; knowing what I had to look forward to."

Steve's face dropped. "Are you disappointed that I'm _not_ pregnant? Oh shit. I'm sorry. I didn’t meant to disappoint—"

"I am completely, totally and utterly not disappointed," Bucky said, and in front of Peggy and Angie, he pulled Steve in and kissed him.

* * *

Much later that evening, after a fabulous dinner with his new boss, her wife and his soulmate, Bucky took Steve home.

"Your house is gorgeous," Steve said admiringly as he took in the living room, hands on hips. "The garden, the colours you've chosen, your furniture…it's all gorgeous. But then again so's the owner, so I guess it makes sense." He grinned, clearly pleased with his flirty joke.

Bucky couldn't help but grin back. Steve was everything he'd ever wanted in a soulmate but was sure he'd never get: he was kind, funny, smart and so good looking it was almost painful. He was going to enjoy getting to know this man for the rest of his life. 

But first he had to tell Steve the truth. "I did all of this for you," Bucky said quickly. "Before you said my soulmarks I was barely holding anything together. My lawn, my house, my _life_ was a total mess. But I met you and I wanted to do better. I wanted to _be_ better. To be the man who'd be good enough for someone as amazing as you. I just thought you should know that before you got the wrong idea about me." By the time he finished his face was burning with embarrassment and shame.

Steve took his hand. "Holy shit, Bucky," he said. "I don't know if that's the nicest or the saddest thing anyone's ever said to me. But I do know that you wouldn't have needed to do any of this to be worthy of me. I knew it from the moment I saw you. That's why I came over that afternoon. Because you looked like someone I really wanted to get to know." 

"Clearly you're easy to impress," Bucky tried to joke. 

"Maybe you're just really impressive," Steve said. "Peggy told me that you were planning on selling your house rather than hurt what you thought was our marriage. That sounds pretty impressive to me." 

Bucky wasn't sure he believed it. Not yet, at least, but he was willing to give Steve the benefit of the doubt. Natasha had said that he was becoming the man he used to be; before Reilly's death and the loss of his arm. Clint had said he was someone who protected others; he'd lost his arm trying to save Reilly's life, after all. Maybe he had been impressive at one point. Maybe he still was. 

Steve was still looking at him, his blue eyes intense with both honesty and heat. "I'd really like to kiss you." 

"What took you so long?" Bucky said against his mouth. And then all he had to worry about was how amazing a kisser Steve was, and the feeling of Steve pressed up against him. 

"Did you want me to wait outside?" Clint said.

Steve and Bucky leapt apart. "Jesus!" Bucky swore. "You're not in the fucking desert anymore, Clint, you can make noise!" 

"I didn't want to wake Sam and Natasha," Clint said. "Now that she's pregnant they go to bed, like, really early." He turned to Steve. "Hi! I'm Clint." 

"Clint's my little brother," Bucky explained. "He's been helping me fix up the house."

"Hi Clint," Steve shook his hand. "You've done an amazing job. Did we meet already?"

"Not really," Clint said. "You came over right after I met my soulmate, Pietro. I was kind of distracted." 

"Speaking of Pietro," Bucky said. "I thought you were over at his place tonight." 

"I won't be spending the night with Pietro until he's eighteen," Clint said like it was obvious. "Besides, he lives with his parents and his dad is terrifying." He sat down on the couch.

Bucky glared at him. "Didn't you want to go to your room?"

Clint looked at him quizzically. "I'm sleeping on the couch." 

Bucky looked imploringly at Steve. 

"I'm, uh, actually using Peggy and Angie's guest room right now," Steve said. "My job's too new for me to qualify for a mortgage." 

Bucky closed his eyes. "I need a bigger place."

* * *

"You know, you could help me with the boxes," Bucky said to Natasha ten months later. 

He and Steve were moving into their new place just down the street from both Sam and Natasha's new place and Peggy and Angie's current one. It was strategically located so that Peggy's twins and Natasha's daughter could come visit whenever they wanted as soon as they were old enough to navigate the short walk on their own. 

They weren't actually walking yet, which just meant visiting with the babies required a bit more planning, which was why the nursery he and Steve were putting together for the three babies was going to be pretty awesome. He was envisioning a lot of baby sleep-overs in the near future when moms and dad needed a break. He would've smiled at the idea if the box he was holding wasn't so damn heavy.

"I'm taking care of Frances," Natasha said.

"Clint's taking care of Frances." Bucky gestured with his chin towards where his brother and niece were sitting together on the one piece of furniture Clint had helped unload from the truck. Frances was a beautiful baby with an easy temperament and her father's big brown eyes. Right now she was gazing adoringly up at her uncle, Clint, who was gazing adoringly back. 

"I'm mentally taking care of her," Natasha said. "A mother's never off-duty." But she laughed and went to help him balance the weight of the box that was a little too much for his one arm. 

"Taking the easy stuff, I see," Steve laughed as he and Sam went by, each supporting the end of their blue couch. 

"What is this couch made of, bricks?" Sam huffed as they went into the house.

"Marriage has made you weak!" Bucky called after him.

"Is that why I'm helping you with this box?" Natasha pointedly looked at the silver wedding band gleaming on Bucky's right ring finger. 

"You're helping me because that's the stuff for the nursery," Bucky said as they maneuvered it into the house, neatly side-stepping Pietro and Wanda as they dashed down the stairs and back outside. 

"You made a nursery for Frances?" Natasha's smile was brilliant.

"Her, and Sarah and Matteo," Bucky agreed, naming off Peggy's children as well. "But also for our own kids." He broke out in a smile. "We heard from our adoption worker this morning."

"Oh my God!" Natasha gasped. "What she say?"

"I'm pregnant," Bucky said, and then he laughed.

**END**


End file.
